


Satiate

by absolutelyCancerous (cal1brations)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, Norway topping is what gives me life, Not Suitable/Safe For Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-15
Updated: 2014-04-15
Packaged: 2018-01-19 11:49:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1468381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cal1brations/pseuds/absolutelyCancerous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They just <i>work</i>, in Denmark’s eloquent terms, and he’s not really positive on how and why, but they do, and Denmark doesn’t question good things (often).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Satiate

Being with Norway is as easy as tying his shoes, as simple as speaking in his own tongue. It would be weird to not be with Norway, more than it is to be with him, even though they’re not really anything except what they want to be.

Giving it a label is stupid, because if Denmark knows what they are, and Norway knows what they are, then why do they need to have a single word to explain something so intricate? They’re best friends (okay, “friends” at best, with Norway’s particular wording) that happen to maybe once in awhile that might also happen to be once or more a week end up making out on Denmark’s couch, or wake up with each other after a few rounds of sex and maybe indulge in another round or several, depending on the day.

Not to say that they don’t disregard the type of relationship they have; once it happened, it wasn’t so much a “gee, maybe we should consider being an item!” situation, and was more of a “damn, we should do this kind of thing more often!” type of situation. Denmark doesn’t want to kiss many other people besides Norway, and Norway just so happens to feel the same way, though he doesn’t have to explain that to Denmark— for someone who can be frustratingly bull-headed at times, Denmark has developed a bit of a knack for reading between the lines, over the years spent in their mish-mash type semblance of a Nordic ‘family’.

Denmark especially likes how easy it is to act around Norway; they get into arguments sometimes, but Denmark can kind of argue with anyone over almost, quite literally,  _everything_ , so that doesn’t mean much in the grand scheme of things. But it’s natural to exist near him, having Norway around makes Denmark feel like something clicks into place, even though Norway is not at his side all the time, obviously. It’s like smoking a cigarette— the effects of togetherness linger enough to sate Denmark for the times when he doesn’t have Norway around.

He likes when Norway is around much more; he is sure to convey this in the time they do happen to share.

They just  _work_ , in Denmark’s eloquent terms, and he’s not really positive on how and why, but they do, and Denmark doesn’t question good things (often).

Good things like, oh, Norway’s hand down his pants the second he’s through Denmark’s door for the evening and Norway’s mouth sucking golfball-sized hickeys against his throat, painting him with marks of possession that make Denmark groan a little more than probably necessary.

He manages a little laugh when Norway’s teeth aren’t gnawing on him as instantly after a few minutes. “Not even a “hello” before you—  _aah—_ set straight to work, huh?”

Norway pulls back to give him an impressive stare, his lips shiny from saliva, before he yanks Denmark close by the waist of his pants, intent in his quest. Before his hand can wiggle its way into the front of his pants again, Denmark pushes back, unable to wipe the dumb smile off his face as he forces Norway to step back, looking a little dumbfounded and irked with Denmark’s reaction.

“Bed’s more comfortable.”

“But we’re already  _here_.”

Denmark laughs at that, which makes Norway glare at him a good bit, but Norway allows his prey lead him upstairs to his bedroom— after all, if he’s getting what he wants, he doesn’t exactly  _have_ to glower holes into the back of Denmark’s head. (He still kind of does, anyway. It’s the principle of it.)

Denmark almost thinks he’s going to nudge Norway onto the bed, silly Denmark, and Norway fists up his shirt in response, quite literally throwing Denmark to the mattress and standing at the foot of the bed while Denmark does that stupid thing that makes Norway want to drool a little, where he looks totally fucking lost in Norway’s stare and—  _ugh_. Denmark drives Norway up the wall without even fucking trying, how unfair.

When Norway moves to kneel on the bed, toeing off his boots in the process of getting onto the bed, Denmark sits up on his elbows, grinning at Norway’s delicious display.

“What’s the occasion?”

If looks could kill, Norway’s sharp glare would have been the perfect way to go out. “Lie down,” he growls, and Denmark just  _has_ to give a roll of his eyes before letting himself flop back against the bed with a sheet-muffled thud.

Denmark opens his mouth to spew out more nonsense, so Norway decides that’s the best moment to yank his shirt up and over his head, effectively getting Denmark lost in a fit of snickering as he peels off his shirt the rest of the way and tosses it aside.

Of course, as soon as Denmark’s shirt is off, he begins yanking at Norway’s, making it ride up, up, up, his pale stomach as Norway tries to wrestle Denmark into stillness, at least so he can get a few more hickeys on his stupid neck.

“You’re pissin’ me off,” Norway snarls around a mouthful of neck, but Denmark only laughs under him and he can feel the moron pulling up his shirt, exposing his hunched-over spine.

“Eye for an eye, Nor.” Another tug. Norway gets so fed up with Denmark’s impatience that he yanks it off and chucks it with a little more force than needed, but he likes how Denmark watches him with a dumbfounded look, so maybe it was a little necessary.

Ah, their skin always feels much better when they press up against each other like this; Denmark feels like a goddamn space heater, but it feels extremely good to seal himself up against him, head to hips, grinding and sighing in tandem; Denmark is already hard, but Norway is quickly coming around, leaving huffs of pleasure against Denmark’s neck as they rock together, still clothed from the waist down.

After one particular grind from Norway and his perfect, god-like ass— for he had climbed over to straddle Denmark what seems like ages ago— Denmark moans impatiently, throwing his hips up and making Norway pop up a little bit with the action, which earns him a glare.

“I’ll leave,” Norway threatens, but there couldn’t be any less venom in it if he actually tried; he’s bluffing. “And then you’ll be miserable, all by yourself.”

“You won’t leave.”

Norway aggressively undoes his own fly at that. “I  _could_.”

But he won’t— he’s in too deep, anyway, and since they’re both so riled up, it only makes sense to get off together (plus, Norway has kind of been waiting for this opportunity all day, so he’s going to take great fucking pleasure in plowing Denmark into the headboard, if all goes as planned.) Besides, Norway would be outright lying if he didn’t say Denmark wasn’t a good (fantastic) lay.

Norway has to get up to wiggle out of his pants, which is not lost on Denmark, who takes the hint and shucks his jeans in three quick motions before whipping them off the edge of the bed, arms open as he beckons Norway back over him to get a few more mind-blowing kisses in. Norway likes a lot of tongue, and Denmark likes a lot of bite, but over the decades and the centuries of doing things like this together, they’ve certainly figured out a good back-and-forth between the two.

Norway makes a bit of a show when he parts from Denmark, who makes a disgruntled sound in the back of his throat at that loss of Norway’s mouth smothering his own, in order to retrieve a condom and lube, which makes a  _smack_ when he tosses the bottle on Denmark’s stomach as he sits back on the bed. Automatically, Norway tugs Denmark’s legs open, snatching up the bottle before Denmark can get his hands on it and flicks it open to pour some of the stuff into his hands, lathering his fingers.

“Warm it up?” Denmark requests, disgustingly sweet with his tone, and Norway gives him a pointed look instead of a vocal answer, rubbing his palms together to warm the oily substance— he doesn’t see the point, because his fingers are always freezing, according to Denmark.

Nonetheless, there he is between Denmark’s legs, watching his abs twitch anxiously as Norway pulls his legs forward a little bit to bring his ass closer. He hunches over Denmark, watching him watch Norway’s hand down between his legs, and Norway rolls his eyes; really, Denmark is such an infant sometimes.

“Relax,” Norway commands, and though Denmark huffs a little, he does end up taking in a deep breath, and before he can let it out, Norway presses the tip of his first finger inside, making Denmark nearly squeal.

“Hey! I wasn’t ready!”

“Then  _be_ ready, idiot.” He does, however, stop what he’s doing and watch Denmark try not to psyche himself out completely; he’s not like a  _sadist_ or anything, and, admittedly, it’s been awhile since Denmark has been in this specific position. Plus, he knows when Denmark needs a second, because he doesn’t ask for it like a  _normal person_  would, because that would be too easy.

Finally (the lube is practically drying on his damn hands), Denmark is calm enough for Norway to proceed again. He’s slow with his fingers, makes sure he doesn’t just jam the digits inside, lest he risk Denmark kneeing him in the gut. Denmark makes a symphony of sounds, ranging from mild discomfort to eager need, each sound Norway has a taste of, kissing Denmark deep to swallow the delicious sounds; he is greedy when it comes to Denmark, and he doesn’t care.

His fingers spend an awfully long time inside Denmark, curling and stretching, testing and teasing. Norway finds he rather enjoys the way Denmark writhes for him, moaning with abandon as Norway maps out all the right spots.

When Norway takes his hand back, deciding that Denmark is well enough off (that and the fact his desperate groans are a serenade to his aching erection, adding fuel to his fire), Denmark gasps at the loss of contact, but watches eagerly as Norway digs up the condom from the sea of bedsheets (Denmark’s prior squirming made it a little hard to find in the folds of the sheets), grimacing when it leaves a fresh coat of lubricant on his fingers as he slides it on— it’s  _cold_ , so sue him.

Norway knows exactly the things Denmark likes, which isn’t really a feat of any sort because Denmark is an annoyingly-easy person to read, but it’s better than awkwardly having to ask things like  _hey, how do you want my dick up your ass?_  every time they hop into bed. He already knows Denmark likes when they’re face-to-face, already knows that he needs to shove one of the pillows under Denmark’s lower back to prop his hips up a little better, and already knows the long, needy keen Denmark gives as Norway teases his hole with the head of his cock, so close to the goal.

He doesn’t have to wait for Denmark to snap a “just do it!” at him, because he already is, hitching up one of Denmark’s legs over his shoulder as he begins to press his cock inside, holding his breath to better hear the hitch in Denmark’s, watching Denmark’s face go from uncomfortable need to stunned delight with a breathy groan and a smile that never seems to fade.  He waits, but Denmark wants it all  _right now_ — so greedy— so he moans and hooks the leg not over Norway’s shoulder around Norway’s legs to bring him in.

There’s plenty of cursing, mainly on Denmark’s end, as Norway presses up to the root, buried completely in bliss. He digs his nails into Denmark’s leg a little, but if Denmark minds, he doesn’t say so, because his mouth his hanging open in a loud moan, hands fisting the sheets, since Norway isn’t really close enough for him to grab at and hold onto while his world is thoroughly fucking rocked.

“Nor,  _babe_ , y—”

Ah, the dreaded name. Norway gives him a particularly hard slam into him at that— if they weren’t in the middle of sex, he’d settle for just smacking him upside the head—  and feels a little smug when Denmark yelps out a delighted noise, eyebrows knitted together like he’s trying to contemplate how absolutely _fantastic_ Norway’s cock feels inside him.

After that, he’s moving fluidly, in and out, letting out a few quiet moans but nothing that compares to Denmark’s cacophony of ecstasy, all his panting and moaning and grunted out phrases, things like “ _oh god!_ ” and “ _Nor, please!_ ” and “ _fuck, I need it!_ ” that make Norway drop his head down, opening his mouth around silent moans of utter fucking delight; no one could be as loud as Denmark, so anything could sound quiet and small in comparison.

Norway skirts his hand up Denmark’s leg, the one not hitched up on his shoulder. It’s a path right to Denmark’s erect cock, bobbing each time Norway bucks into him, calling for Norway’s attention. He wraps his hand around Denmark— tight, just as Denmark always likes— and pumps him, turning his wrist a little bit this way and a little bit that way, and Denmark vocalizes his appreciation with a steadily growing chorus of “ _fuck, fuck, **fuck**!_ ”

However, before Denmark gets the chance to come, Norway beats him to it, head hanging down and a hand wrapped tightly around Denmark’s weeping cock as his hips jolt forward to bury into Denmark and his body feels like its trying to conduct a million volts of electricity out through his dick. He may or may not make a grunt that sounds exactly like Denmark’s name, but it doesn’t matter, because once Norway comes to understand Denmark’s pleas of _Nor, oh god, **Norway**_!, he’s getting right back into his predatory set of mind, the air he had when he first shoved his tongue in Denmark’s mouth this evening, and quickly pulls himself out, leaving Denmark to gape at him in horror— he can’t leave  _now_!

Denmark is more than just pleasantly surprised when Norway hunches over Denmark’s aching cock, one hand holding him firmly at the base as he wastes no time taking the head into his mouth, his fantastic tongue working at that sensitive ridge under the head. His other hand cups Denmark’s sac, massaging him as he greedily lavishes his cock with his warm and so-very-wet mouth, and Denmark is rendered a moaning mess of a man, his orgasm making his back arch impossibly as he presses up into Norway’s waiting mouth, hollering his name to the ceiling.

Norway, for the most part, licks him clean when he’s finished, sitting back to wipe his mouth and get the now-completely-disgusting condom off his cock with a grimace. Denmark is still catching his breath, but he sits up a tiny bit to watch, laughing breathlessly at Norway’s plight.

They get cleaned up (as best they can when Norway’s knees are a little wobbly still and Denmark doesn’t want to get up from the damn bed) and end up in a sprawled pile above the bedsheets. It’s not really cuddling per se, because they’re both too hot from sex to bare snuggling up just yet, but it’s still fairly nice. Norway stares up at the ceiling and Denmark stares at Norway until Norway finally makes his what-could-you-possibly-want sigh, sparing him a glance.

“ _Awesome_ ,” Denmark basically swoons, and he’s so pathetic post-coitus that it could almost be considered endearing, in a very loose way. Norway rolls his eyes, anyway, but doesn’t throw Denmark off when he rests his head on Norway’s forearm with a content sigh; Norway tells himself it’s because he’s too exhausted to care and that he’s just a little delusional when he finds his hand running through Denmark’s messy hair, almost fondly.


End file.
